


Falling in Love at an Anchor Desk

by Peapods



Category: Pundit RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peapods/pseuds/Peapods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson is going to seduce the sportscaster. Even if he needs moves best left to Wile E. Coyote to achieve it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling in Love at an Anchor Desk

Anderson was very well aware--_very well aware_\-- that Keith Olbermann's obvious first love(and perhaps only) was baseball. The man talked about it like Anderson talked about wars. It was very obviously his bread and butter, meat and potatoes, _and_ guilty pleasure. Aaron Brown had, unfortunately, decided to take a vacation right when a baseball strike was becoming big news and Anderson was forced to pretend to care about sports. Worse, he was forced to pretend to care about sports in front of someone who thought sports coverage seriously warranted prediction, blow-by-blow, after the fact, and then some. And it was so very obvious by the look in Keith's eyes that he knew Anderson knew absolutely _shit_ about baseball.

None of this, of course, was going to stop Anderson from trying to get the man in his bed.

So when they were sitting at the anchor desk, each looking over their notes, Anderson began his sneak-attack seduction. He squeaked his chair a _little_ closer to the desk, rolling it _accidentally_ so it was a little closer to Keith. The older man's eyes flicked up and Anderson caught them and quirked his sexy smile.

At least he hoped it was sexy. He'd been using it for quite a few years and if looked like a demented monkey instead he really had to question his choice of bed partners.

Keith quirked the smallest smile in return, but his eyes returned to his notes distressingly fast. Anderson emphatically did _not_ huff his disappointment.

Round two.

He picked up his pen and began smoothing his fingers along the shaft. He couldn't look to see if Keith was looking, but after a while he switched to twirling it in his fingers. _Show him how dextrous these hands are._

No sign from the man to his right, but he couldn't actually look. He could only hope that the display had at least _registered_.

Round three.

"So I know that you love baseball, but how far does your love extend?" Anderson asked. Keith looked up, seemingly surprised at the question.

"Been a life-long Yankee fan. I collect baseball cards. I probably know everything there is to know about the sport and then some, why do you ask?"

Anderson shrugged, letting himself half-smile(hoping that was sexy too). "You just seemed so passionate about it. You're on the phone most of the time we're in the studio and you have something face."

Keith looked slightly confused but was apparently willing to indulge Anderson's insanity.

"'Something face'?" he asked. Anderson giggled, and of course there it was, the appearance of the chicken-being-strangled-giggle-of-doom-and-inevitable-blush. He blushed then answered.

"My mom always calls my serious looks 'something face' when something is quite honestly bothering me."

"Not just pretending to bother you," Keith interjected with a knowing look.

Anderson giggled again. "You caught me. Baseball is something I only pretend to bother about."

"What really bothers you?" and Keith actually seemed genuinely curious about it. Anderson could only be delighted that his conversation starter hadn't led to a baseball lecture. Although he wasn't sure he liked how it had been turned back around on him.

"Loss," he answered suddenly and honestly and immediately wanted to take it back. The word was just sitting out there like that really awful couch his family had had when he was a child. He looked away, embarrassed and kicking himself. Flirting to get a man into bed did _not_ include letting him know about your deep, dark psyche.

But Keith just nodded. "You seemed to not be as interested in the more, shall we say, lighthearted aspects of your reporting. And yes, among many other things, baseball is one of the things I seriously am bothered by," and with that he gave Anderson another small, fleeting smile before turning back to his notes.

Anderson could only do the same, his entire plan off kilter.

*****

Keith was back a few days later and Anderson had regained his footing. Only now he was more interested in getting a date than getting a fuck. His mother's advice had been the same as usual--"Wear stripes and blue"-- and Anderson had never really, you know, _dated_ before so he was breaking new ground.

Instead of the seduction moves of Tuesday, he decided more conversation would lead Keith more obviously towards asking Anderson out. No way in Hell was he going to ask out Keith himself. Unfortunately, he had no idea what to talk about. Baseball was out, Anderson knew nothing about it and so it would be more like the lecture he was expecting the other day than in kind of witty repartee that one saw in all the romantic comedies.

_There should be a chip bowl somewhere in the studio I can stand by, I'd be infinitely more comfortable,_ he thought, thinking of his wall-flower tendencies when trying to find a one night stand wasn't involved.

Keith was already being made-up and Anderson made his way over.

_Start small_, he thought as the makeup artist moved away.

"I always end up way more orange than can be considered normal," he said. And immediately had to restrain himself from smacking his forehead and going to to stand in the corner.

"Excuse me?" Keith said with a spluttered laugh. Anderson blushed, but giggled, happy that Keith had at least laughed. Even if it was that laugh the crazy people generally got.

"The makeup people. They seem to think I'd blind all our viewers with my pale skin." Keith laughed at that.

"I have a very red complexion, unfortunately, makeup doesn't seem to help much."

"So basically we both look like a couple of Muppets?" Keith smiled and nodded.

"You can be Scooter."

"What, the nephew who runs the theater? He was such a ninny!" Anderson protested. Keith was laughing. "Fine, then you get to be Beaker!"

"Beaker was pink," Keith retaliated with a pointed finger.

"Fine then, Ernie." Keith laughed.

"In our present situation, one might say you would be Bert."

"I do _not_ have a uni-brow," Anderson vowed, but he was giggling all through it.

"Yeah, no black hair either," Keith needled with a twinkle in his eye and Anderson couldn't help but keep laughing.

"It would also make us heterosexual life partners," Anderson answered, barely taking a breath. Keith suddenly looked entirely serious, except for the twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh, Anderson there is nothing _at all_ heterosexual about Bert and Ernie," he said. Anderson's cheeks flamed and his more embarrassed laugh slipped out but before he responded the voice in his ear told him to get ready to go on the air.

He cursed silently at the smug look on Keith's face--who obviously knew who had gotten the last word-- and looked up at his tele-prompter.

_That **had** to be a come-on. That's it, right after the show I'm cornering him._

*****

Easier thought than done, Anderson discovered. Keith had disappeared _somewhere_, cellphone glued to his head and Anderson knew he wasn't about to be enough distraction for a possible end to the strike. He went back to makeup and cleaned off the cake on his face before taking off his tie and stuffing it in his pocket. His briefcase was back in his little cubicle--they liked to call it an office, but Anderson was pretty sure it was just a cubicle. He didn't really care so much, he was closer to the action that way. He moseyed as slowly as possible to the elevator that would take him to his floor, looking this way and that for Keith, but there was no sign of the man. He was a head taller than most of the people in the Time Warner Center so it should have been easy to find him were he around.

He sighed and resigned himself to another lost chance. The elevator opened on his floor and he noted that most people had probably already gone home judging by the noise level, or they had gone up to a studio. He stared at his feet as he walked, knowing instinctively where he was going until he met something he did not expect.

His head shot up and nearly caught Keith Olbermann in the chin.

"You really think you're an unstoppable force?" Keith asked. Anderson grinned a witty comeback already at his lips.

"Only if you can be my immovable object." It was a come-on. A blatant one. Anderson wouldn't even need to wear a "come-fuck-me" sign for all the subtlety in his reply.

But Keith only laughed. And held out his hand.

"I just wanted to say what a pleasure it's been working with you. You obviously know nothing about baseball which is nice because it meant I got to talk about baseball to my heart's content. But you obviously love your job and it's nice to see someone non-jaded," Anderson shook the man's hand, confused.

"Oh, I mean, are you not coming back?" It was the only response Anderson could come up with that wasn't some variation of _Why am I not naked over my desk right now with you right behind me?_

"I'll be back, sure, if you all keep reporting on the strike, but I wasn't sure we'd get the chance to talk again."

"I mean," Anderson blushed and wondered if he should even say it. But tonight's conversation had been so much fun. "I could maybe, give you my number? We could go out for drinks one night?"

"Hey! Good idea! I don't have a lot a friends in the area right now, I could use the company." Anderson didn't let his disappointment show. He simply named off his number when Keith pulled out his cell. He then punched in Keith's in kind.

"Maybe see ya later," Keith threw over his shoulder as he walked away.

Anderson did _not_ kick his chair in frustration.

*****

Keith came back again to announce the end of the baseball crisis and to tell them _all_ about the deal that had been struck. Anderson could have cared less. He was impatient for the show to be over so he could again corner Keith. Because Anderson had had an epiphany.

Keith was stupid.

Or at least he was incredibly oblivious. He was one of those guys who would have to be hit over the head. Anderson planned to do so.

The heavy studio lights went off and the regular lights came on and Anderson nearly fainted with relief. He'd been sweating throughout their last little interview in anticipation for what he was going to do. He nearly ran to makeup and down to his desk where he texted Keith. He'd just gotten a new Blackberry(with his old number, thank Heaven for small favors) and knew that Keith was nuts for his own Blackberry.

"MEET ME IN STUDIO. 12 AM." He texted and sent before he could back out. He then skulked around several different floors avoiding anyone over 6 feet tall.

Thirty minutes later he sat on his--Aaron Brown's, he reminded himself with a shake of his head-- desk, swinging his feet. The studio was empty with only peripheral lights to illuminate the space. Anderson kind of loved the emptiness. Everything was usually so bustling, a little peace brought a lot of perspective.

He didn't particularly want to anchor. There were too many stories he wanted to tell. But there was something about that chair. There was a prompter sure, but the questions were usually all his. Maybe there was less _danger_ involved in anchoring, but it wasn't much less exciting.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the footsteps until the shoes were in his line of sight. He looked up to see a quizzical looking Keith.

"Any reason you couldn't call me like a normal person, or, you know, talk to me after the broadcast?" he asked. But he didn't look angry. Just curious.

"I figured, after two days of you not getting it, that I just needed to come right out and say it," Anderson replied taking a deep breath. "I'd like to go out with you."

"That's all? Sure, let's get a drink. You think some of the other guys-"

"NO!" Anderson shouted. He blew out a huff of air before saying in a softer tone of voice. "Keith, I want to go out with _you_. I like you, and I think you like me and unless I'm reading the situation entirely wrong I think we could be good together."

Keith still looked confused, but more like he was trying to puzzle out something elusive rather than just plain boggled.

"You want to go out with just me?" Keith shifted on his feet and then looked straight at Anderson. "How do you mean, exactly?"

"Oh for cryin'-" Anderson started before grabbing Keith's tie and pulling him forwards. Their faces were only inches apart now and Keith's body was braced on his arms on the outside of Anderson's body. He was very nearly between Anderson's legs. His eyes were locked on Anderson and he knew that Keith had finally gotten it. Without much further ado, Keith tilted his head and took Anderson's lips in about the most dizzying kiss in the history of the world.

Anderson's eyes fluttered shut as their lips pressed and slid across one another. His hand, no longer clenched in Keith's tie, slid up the other man's chest onto the back of his neck, holding the other man there. They didn't waste much time with the more chaste kisses and Anderson eagerly opened his mouth to Keith's tongue. He let a moan out as Keith caressed the area behind his teeth and slid against his own tongue.

Keith pulled away, dragging Anderson's bottom lip. "I can be a bit oblivious," he said lowly.

"Uh-huh," Anderson replied breathlessly.

"I'm just saying, an anvil wouldn't have been out of place."

"Sure."

"Perhaps even a lightning-"

"Why do you keep talking?" Anderson interrupted before pulling Keith back into a scorching kiss. Anderson opened his legs, letting Keith step closer, the desk tall enough that he could feel the heat from Keith's groin. Anderson's kisses were getting sloppier, trying to get his mouth closer to Keith's, though this was clearly impossible. His dick was pressing through his underwear onto his zipper. Keith shoved slightly forward and their groins met. Anderson huffed out a moan into Keith's mouth, cheeks flaming with lust, and opened his eyes.

_I will not have sex on Aaron Brown's desk...I will not have sex on Aaron Brown's desk_.

Keith's hands grabbed his ass and shoved Anderson's fully body into Keith's.

_I'm **so** having sex on Aaron Brown's desk_.

His hands were fluttering, wanting to caress Keith's torso, but eager for their prize. He contented himself with a few sweeps, getting the feel of the other man's chest before dropping to his pants. They were both practically panting now and Anderson noticed Keith's very large hands--he whimpered at the sight--tugging at his own belt and zipper.

The first touch of Keith's hand on his erection--Anderson's own hands had gone still and weak--had Anderson letting out a sound better left to porn stars. A whine and a moan because Keith's hands were _really_ big and kind of rough. Anderson wouldn't have believed a sportscaster would have such rough hands, but his dick was telling him otherwise.

In an effort to regain _some_ measure of reciprocity he commanded his hands to move. They loosened Keith's belt and dragged down the zipper, careful over the large--_God, was **everything** about this man huge?_\--erection that jumped at the feel of Anderson's knuckles. Maintaining their kiss, which was more a press of mouths and occasional lick now, was more difficult and Anderson broke it entirely as he managed to get his hand around Keith's dick. He pressed his head into the man's shoulder instead, staring at their hands. Then Keith's hand left him. He pointedly didn't complain, but looked up into Keith's eyes.

He looked positively feral. And was shoving himself even closer, pulling Anderson's ass to the edge. Their erections pressed together and Anderson waited breathlessly until Keith thrust against him. Lights went off in his head and he instinctively thrust back. Keith lowered them so he could balance on one arm and hold Anderson close by the small of his back. Anderson's legs, shoes and all, clutched at Keith's butt. They moved together slowly at first. Anderson was surprised Keith wasn't rushing. They were having sex in a studio on someone else's desk, after all. But the other man kept a steady rhythm, his cock dragging against Anderson's, their only lubrication the pre-come that dripped from both.

Their faces were close and as they began to speed up, Anderson's breath panted in Keith's face. Keith was almost snorting like a racehorse as they thrust together more frantically.

"Oh, God, Keith," Anderson whispered and thought _Oh crap_. The talking portion of tonight's events was about to commence. Well, hopefully he could at least keep quiet.

"Yes, God, _fuck_. Oh shit we have to-to do this in a bed-" he gasped. Suddenly, warm lips were at his ear.

"I'm going to take you home and fuck you so hard," Keith whispered and Anderson felt like he'd been punched in the chest he was winded so quickly.

"_Yes_."

The hand at his back grasped at their erections and they both moaned. "Gonna put this in you," Keith growled. Anderson felt his ass spasm at the thought.

_Good Christ, his dirty talk is **raunchy**, but I can't really find it in myself to care_.

His hand didn't leave again and moments later Anderson cried out before stuffing his mouth with Keith's suit jacket releasing into Keith's hand. A moment later Keith went rigid and added to the mess. Anderson thought his hands were probably big enough for all of it.

They didn't disengage immediately. Keith started kissing him again instead. The perfect comedown in Anderson's opinion. A few minutes of lazy kisses and they were wiping their combined mess on Anderson's tie--already off for his seduction. They zipped back up but Keith didn't back away.

"Gonna make good on your promise?" Anderson asked in a soft voice. His arousal was already building again at the thought.

"On one condition," Keith said.

"What's that?"

"Come to a baseball game with me tomorrow." Anderson stared for a moment. It was almost more than he'd hoped for. _Almost_. Keith's invitation implied that this was more than just a convenient fuck. He smiled and smoothed the lines of Keith's suit.

"_Take me out to the ballgame_," he sang softly and mostly out of tune. But it had the effect he wanted. Keith gave him an honest-to-God smile.

And then a hand smacked his ass. He yelped and jumped down, now a head shorter than Keith.

"Come on, anchor boy, let's go have some fun. And tomorrow I get to teach you about baseball."

"You never said anything about teaching," Anderson said, falling easily into their banter as they walked towards the elevators.

"It was implied."

"Where exactly?"

"You've been sitting next to me for a week trying to look like you know something about baseball and you think I'm _not_ going to try and teach you something? And of course they operative word there was _try_."

"I'm a fast learner."

Keith leaned in close.

"Something I plan to take advantage of very soon."

As the elevator doors closed on them Anderson was sure the big grin on his face could not be mistaken for anything other than ecstatic.

He was surprisingly okay with that.


End file.
